Chapter 19
Paula liked hearing from Diane. Her letters were always so cheerful and breezy. And full of news, too. The one that came in last week said that Burt Nestler's book had been bought by Hollywood even before publication. Well, that was a stroke of hick for Burt and Nikki They made a nice married couple and Paula wished them well.
But the letter. The one she couldn't open. It wouldn't be cheerful and breezy like Diane's happy scrawls. Oh no. The name on the return address was Michele Duval. From some little town in Pennsylvania, of all places.
Not opening it was silly, though. Anyway, what harm could Michele do her from that far away? None at all. So she might as well stop being so squeamish. There. It was out of the envelope. Michele's handwriting was easy to read.
Dear Paula, Yes, you are still dear to me. Especially in these last years of my life. I am dying, Paula, and I am old and sad and lonely. But I must obey my doctor's orders if I want to keep going. After what I have been through, it isn't easy to stay in the peace and quiet of my little farm. I am more accustomed to loud noises and wild times.
Still, I must not complain. The farm is good for me. It is almost primitive, really, and it makes me feel like a pioneer every time I get water from the well or make the long, cold journey to the outhouse.
The outhouse. Paula, you should see it. Does it make you laugh to think of your delicate Michele sitting her delicate derriere on a hole cut in rough and splintery boards? There are times, I must admit, when I wish you were here to see me like that. And then I remember how good we were together and what delightful things we did and I get excited and I long for you, my Paula, and it grieves me that you are not here to share with me the thrill that only you and I can give each other.
So I write you. I have a hired man and woman to do the heavy work, but they can do nothing for my loneliness. Only you, Paula, can make me happy. So I write and ask you to come. Will you? Even for a short visit?
No, I do not beg. It is not in me to beg. I am still Michele and I must be truthful. If you come and stay with me you will know discomfort. I will send my hired couple away so that we can be alone. But you will have to do much of their work. Your pretty hands will turn course, perhaps, and mind because here a bath is not a simple, everyday occurrence. You will live like a peasant. But you and I will be together.
Is it compensation enough? To be together as we once were? More than this I can not offer you. But my heart cries out for yours, my darling Paula, and you must understand that what we had between us has never grown dim. It is as big and beautiful as ever.
Do you remember the morning when the loud-mouthed nightingale awakened you in my bed? Ah, but you must remember it. I told you then that when you deny me, you deny yourself. And I asked for your talented fingers and your talented lips. No, I am sure you have not forgotten.
Paula, you were my captive that morning and I loved you for it. I called you my shy and submissive maiden, did I not? Yes. I recall it as if it were only yesterday. You were confused and headachy and you wanted to go to the bathroom. To wash your face, you said. And I went with you, lovely Paula, we went together and stayed a long, long time in our little heaven and I can not remember if you ever did wash your face as you had gone to do. But there was no confusion and no headache; nor has there ever been joy such as we knew that morning.
That same joy is all I can offer you today. Was I too harsh? Too cruel? Did I demand too much of you? Then perhaps you should not come. All of that is part of the joy.
I have said too much. I can write no more. It is too late and I must take the journey to the little house out in back and sit upon the rough boards. So I can say only what I said to you on that memorable morning, my darling Paula, Come. I have need for you.
Michele
Paula put Michele's letter on her desk. She rested her chin thoughtfully in her hand and a worried frown creased the smooth forehead beneath her braided aubum tresses. Then with a decisive motion, she lifted the intercom phone on her desk.
"Send Pablo, Jacques and Yvetto to my private quarters at once. And, oh yes, tell that new girl Maria to come too," she ordered.
As each of the men and girls she sent for entered her private sanctum, they practically stood at attention before her. After all, she was "la patronesse" and they awaited her pleasure. Paula looked them over.
Pablo was an ex-bullfighter from Mexico City. He had a powerful, squat body, yet could move with amazing agility. He was actually built like a bull around his loins, a fantastic prick-pusher who could literally work around the clock without a stop.
Yvette was a dusky, svelte regular girl from Michele's days. The tropical loveliness of her beautiful body was carefully trained to do literally anything in the book with enthusiastic perfection. Schoolteachers from the States gasped unbelievingly at her act with Siegfried, the specially-trained police dog Paula had imported from the infamous whorehouse sector of Hamburg.
Jacques was a dark, Latin type. His dark body had the smooth, graceful muscles of a dancer, but he too was an inexhaustible lover. Women went wild as he tongoed them across the bedroom, his remarkable dong frigging them to music.
The voluptuous "cryer" as Maria had come to be known was making a popular reputation for herself too. Paula was pleased with these specimens of the nine girls and seven males she had working for her now.
"My children," she said addressing them, "I have called you together because I am weary-it would amuse and refresh me to see you all make love before me. So you may commence!"
It interested Paula to see that both men made Maria the newest acquisition. Pablo managed to embrace her luscious curves first. Jacques turned toward Yvette a shade disappointedly as Pablo pulled Maria to the thickly carpeted floor. He rolled atop her, his giant lusting stiff prick too impatient for preliminaries. Paula watched fascinated as Maria screamed and cried quite sincerely as Pablo's cock lunged into her cunt with a seemingly never-ending thrust.
"Do not hurt my pigeon!" she cried out to the grinning Mexican.
But Maria's white thighs were already weaving in passionate response, her legs entwined around his dark, compact body.
Jacques was more graceful. Approaching Yvette with arms outspread as if asking her to dance, he seemed to lead her delicious curves into a tango step. At the third step, Yvette took in her breath sharply, for Jacques' throbbing maleness was dancing within her too, in his famous specialty.
As the bodies before her swayed and writhed before her in primitive rhythm, Paula's eyes glistened and her breathing became more rapid.
Maria cried in sobbing ecstasy as her wriggling, working cunt brought Pablo to a bellowing climax. Yvette screamed shrilly in joyous abandon as Jacques stopped in the middle of a tango step and they both contorted in a climaxing go-go-go frenzy.
Now aroused by the wild freedom of the spectacle before her, Paula yelled throatily, "Daisy chain, all together kids!"
Flinging off her negligee, she went quickly to the center of the room and lying on her back, offered the lustiness of her magnificent body to the lusting group. Pablo as usual, was first Lying down next to Paula, he motioned her to get astride him, facing away. His super-cock felt fantastic as her cunt eased down, but it was something Paula had been curious to sample.
Yvette parted her strong, shapely thighs and suddenly Pablo's face seemed to disappear, only the top of his head was visible between her shimmering buttocks as he frenched her eager cunt.
The appealing intimacy of Maria's hot, moist cunt edged up to Paula's waiting mouth as the sexy Cuban girl wriggled toward her mistress on her back. Jacques sank to his knees above Maria's face and groaned happily as warm frantic lips sought and found his stiff pecker.
"The chain is complete," Jacques announced as he felt Yvette close the final link in her own way, her tongue searching in his anus.
Their joined bodies swayed and wriggled, their cries of cresting passion mingling in a roaring wild finale, as hot scum and cunt-juices were mixed in delirious orgasms.
A letter fluttered from Paula's desk, unnoticed. It would remain there, until it was swept away, unanswered. Paula no longer had any need of Michele. She had become Michele.
And this was the final ironic victory of Michele Duval.